Please, Mother Nature, May I have Some More?

I’ve also noticed that many Aussie’s have a none-to-positive view of the Greek system in America; they do not have frats or sororities here.

Pete, our tour guide in Byron Bay made cracks about the Greek letters worn by sorority girls at bond, saying he doesn’t care what letter they represent, because they mean one thing to Aussie guys: “F ME.” He also referred to them as, “sorostitutes.” Clever, Pete, clever.

Also, our spin class instructor treated a group of us to a vivid conversation of his perspective of Greek members. He unleashed some rather vulgar comments in reference to their behavior behind closed doors, which I will not repeat here, as they even made ME blush. And this author is a girl whose new years resolution was to cuss less.* Whew, lewd indeed. He was also puzzled at the eagerness of many girls and guys to “pay for friends,” and his assistant joined him in Greek bashing, alluding to the over-the-top machismo of many American frat guys at Bond as overcompensation for something else. The entire pre-class conversation was enlightening, and generally uncomfortable.

Now, the Greek system may not be for me, but I have no problem with it. HOWEVER. I will say the Panhellenic girls at Bond representing a certain school in Boston may or may not fit… oh nevermind.

Onto Spin Class itself. There were 30 bikes in a room the size of my parent’s kitchen, a DJ’s sound board pumping some sweet techno beats and not a single window. But, oh, was there a discoball. A sweet, multicolored discoball. So. The lights get turned off. The discoball gets turned on, and we commence spinning to a techno song. I will not describe the song because it is common knowledge that, especially to someone who has a ear for Southern Rock, every techno song is exactly the same… ::gooshgooshgoosh::. Needless to say, I was sweating like a ‘Slore in Church’ 5 minutes in, and by class end was legitimately lightheaded. So sum up the experience, all I was missing was a little hit of something and, BAM, I would have experienced Studio 54 in its heyday.

Well, I the first anniversary of my 21st birthday occurred yesterday. I am 21 and twelve months, and thank you all for your well wishes. Now while I was not particularly excited for this birthday, I was excited by the prospect of not having sleet/snow/wintry mix on my birthday. However, Mother Nature had other plans and released a deluge of rain—the first rain since we arrived. Why thank you Mother Nature, and a one fingered salute to yourself, as well. Luckily, I had my Notorious PIC (Partner In Crime), Jackie, to take me to O’Malley’s in Surfers with Jodi, Jake, and Beau, buy me some Magners (joy of joys, they have it here!!!), and get the band there to play Kid Rock. Thus, she succeeded in pulling me out of my funk.

*FYI- When deciding whether or not to make cussing less your resolution, might I advise you to take into considering relocation to another country prior to. Airport travel, customs, idiot members of your travel group and being phoneless, internetless and bank accountless in a strange land do NOT bode well for those trying to clean a potty mouth.

Cultural Lessons: (not my best edition)

-Aussie guys wear fitted shorts. Like fitted.
-Rather than the public speaking class I would have take at NEU, the public speaking class here consists of projects like dressing in a toga, standing in the middle of campus midday and delivering a speech that begins with, “My fellow Roman, lend me your ears…” ::sigh:: that’s just great…
-Australia Day is this Monday. It appears to be like the 4th of July. Jackie and I have already bought some Australia flag temporary tattoos: 1.) because we’re super cool. 2.) the only permanent tattoo I’d ever get would be the American flag. Land of the free, Home of the brave. Uh.
-One of the on-campus eateries has recently begun serving a delicious selection of Bubble Tea. So get excited, Jess, get real excited.
-Shout out to my six foot tall little brother! "Miss you, broski!"

Always Consensual in Byron Bay

So Byron Bay was awesome. About 45 minutes from campus, it is in New South Wales, not Queensland, and is in a different time zone. It was a bit bizarre to drive for 45 minutes and have to set your watch ahead an hour. But how to best describe Byron? Picture Seattle circa 1990. Now picture a hippie commune. Finally add a dash of a expensive resort masquerading as a simple, quaint beach town. Voila—Byron Bay.

We took surfing lessons there, and the guys running our lesson (Sean and Kyle) fulfilled every surfer stereotype I could drum up. After being driven to the beach in the company VW van, pumping reggae the whole time, we commenced learning to surf. I will spare you the details of my not-so-exciting triumphant 0.8 second stand on my board, but will explain the man, nay, the legend, that is Kyle.

Kyle our surf instructor is hard to describe. With hair that has never met scissors or a brush it liked and a manner that suggests he has never met a marijuana plant he DIDN’T like, Kyle seemed to struggle with retaining information for more that 2.8 seconds. For example, after meeting Jackie and me and teaching us how to surf, he, at three other points in the day asked Jackie and me if we were interested in learning how to surf. “Well, Kyle, that’s very generous, but for the umpteenthmillion time, YOU’VE ALREADY TAUGHT US TO SURF!” Man is a walking, “This is your brain on drugs,” ad. However, in a redeeming moment, 32 year old Kyle confirmed that when he picks up 17 and 18 year old girls at the pub, it is always consensual. That’s wonderful Kyle. You are not a raper.

But, really, I’m being a bit too hard on Kyle. He did provide us with some helpful information. For example, the park in the center of town is the best place to buy weed, and if we are looking for an “easy lay,” we should peruse the pub called “The Cheeky Monkey.” Thanks Kyle; you’re true blue.

More Cultural Moments Down Under:

-DO NOT ORDER DIET COKE. Unless you enjoy the flavo(u)r of coke and dark rum minus the taste-bud numbing effects of the rum. However, the Coke Zero is normal (God Bless America)

-An Aussie is insulted if they are called a “POM” or a “POMMIE” (a Brit). Aussies will insult any rude Canadians by asking them if they are American. I investigated this, and there is speculation the term began as, "POHM," for "Prisoner of Her Majesty," as in the criminals sent to Australia from England.

-There is a place called, “Fruit World,” about 30 minutes from campus. It sounds like Willy Wonka World minus the risk of adult onset diabetes. Like, “A Fun and Fibrous Adventureland!”

Republicans! Sportsmanship! Books!

Apparently “Team America: World Police” is not universally funny. Who knew? Upon being caught rocking out to the Team America theme song in the privacy of their own room, one Aussie tartly questioned why that was a funny song (at which point the song, of course, extended a shout-out to “The Internet” and “Slavery”). We did our best to explain the ridiculousness of the song as responsible for humor—that we’re just laughing at ourselves—but she was clearly miffed. Whatever. …”BAND AIDS!”


Also, I am puzzled by the current state of the Australian dollar. While it is the weakest it has been in a long time (.71 cents equals 1 American dollar), there is no mention of economic hardship or depression in Australian newspapers, television, etc., other than to say that the AU dollar is floated lower than the US or euro. Methinks that’s curious. Perhaps I simply think or have been convinced that the world’s prosperity is contingent upon the US’s, but I seemed to think that the rest of the World was as depressed as we were. However, I’ve also noticed when I am running around Robina, I am constantly detoured by construction (ok, FINE. I jog towards construction like a moth to a flame because Aussie construction workers are truly bangin). This indicates to me that Australia is pumping money into infrastructure; while back home I can’t go running without breaking my ankle on a myriad of concrete hazards. But, tehehe, these are but the observations of a blonde :)

OK, Cultural Lessons.


-Aussies are, per capita, fatter than Americans. How the hell did a nation with amazing weather and huge outdoor potential manage to be handed defeat by the Paula Dean Deep South!!! America, consider me boggled, flabbergasted and gobsmacked.

-Australia will give you $21,000 to buy your first house, $5,000 to have a kid, and a Christmas bonus, again, if you have a young child.
…
…
…
Having weighed the pro’s and con’s (chiefly losing her figure forever… “You know, you can’t come back from that”), the author has decided that the best way expedite student loan payments is pregnancy. So sit and spin Northeastern. Sit and spin.

-Rock Band and Guitar Hero are not popular here, however “Singstar” for PS2 is HUGE. We played it for appx 5 hours yesterday, and, consequently sound like Juliette Lewis today.

-Australia does not sell Crystal Light, Wyler’s Delight, or any comparable powders. Seriously??? Seriously Australia??? Really??? WHAT THE ____?! STUPID_______!?!

Can You Hear, Can You Hear the Thunder?

I would like to take a time out to underscore the characteristic aussie friendliness mentioned in the previous post. Finding ourselves woefully lacking in cute, flirty sundresses, Jackie and I braved the bus system to Robina Town Centre. There we found ourselves some good and playful dresses and prepared for purchase from the store owner, a mid-fourties woman named Erin. The following events will be relayed as actual dialogue. The names, the locations and actions are all true.
Erin: "Hello girls! You find what you were looking for?"
J and C chorus: "Yes."
E: "How old are you girls?"
J: "We're both 21."
E: "Really?! My son is 21. He's at home not doing anything right now. Would you mind if I called him right now to make sure it's ok if I give you his number?"

Cue awkward, "Errrrrs..." as the phone call is made.

E: "Alright, here's his number."

At this point, you, like jackie and my cynical self are likely thinking this guy is appx a 4-5 on the hottie charts. But wait...

E: "Yeah, he just back from a show he was in where he toured the world. He left the show, but one of his best mates took his spot."

...Great. Some kind of artsy theatre wierdo.

E: "You know, one of those shows like... Chippendales, yeah? It's the aussie version: Thunder from Down Under."

So to summarize. Jackie and I were given the number of Cameron, 21 year old son on Erin and retired performer for the Chippendales All Male Revue. Stay tuned as to whether or not Cameron's number is rung this Friday, perhaps after a few Strongbows.

And now for what is to become a blogpost staple, a few cultural lessons I've learned:
-be aware of the conversion between calories and kilo Joules, unless you want to gain the freshman 15 all over again.
-FACT: when agreeing to play pool with the guys at the local tavern, do not ask, "Are we stripes or solids?" an uncomfortable pause in conversation will occur and you will be stared blankly at. instead, they are called "littles" and "bigs."

and finally,
-target is to australia what walmart is to the states. do not squeal, "TARGET," every time you see one. you will be seen as white trash.*



*the author of this post will always squeal, "TARGET." she will also always listen to skynyrd, fix anything with duct tape and see and above-ground pool as the pinnacle of status and wealth. Thank you and Goodnight.

No Worries!

Twas the third day of Australia and all through the dorm there were spiders and roaches and ... incredibleness.

While the flights here were not the easiest, a little LAX barhopping and some sudafed flu PM more than did the trick. We even had some good airport karma (those of us who know mine and jackie's airport luck understand we had this coming), as my 3 lb too heavy bag was allowed on the plane without my being raped by airport fees...yaaaaaay! It's hard to stay below the weight limit, though, since I tend to tote around a few extra pounds of AWESOME wherever I go.

So, the Jackie and Caitlin traveling curse almost hit when we finally got to bond; we weren't roomates even after requesting to be so. While I mentally prepared myself for a Level 9 (though ready for 10 should the situation call for it) BITCH FIT, the lovely Robyn of Accomodations replied, "No Worries!" She switched my keys with another girls' and, presto, roomate situation resolved. Unreal. I was almost disappointed with how easy it was; I didn't have to work for it. This, perhaps, is the most significant and fovo(u)red difference I've noticed thusfar between Australia and the States (besides the charming aussie penchant for occasional olde english spelling)--the relaxed culture and patience of employees of all sorts (bank tellers, admins, coffee barristas, travel agents, etc.)

I will also now ennumerate a few other cultural lessons I've learned:
-asking for "cream" in your coffee will get you whipped cream
-the cream you put in your coffee is "brewing cream" and it is thick like condensed milk
-iced coffee does not exist. there are frappes. "iced coffe" means a milkshake with a smidgen of coffee mixed in
-Tim Tams are a sacred Australian cookies. AND GLUTEN FREE TIMTAMS EXIST!
-saltanas are greenish raisins
-all of the trashy magazines have American celebrities on them (f.y.i: Jessica and Ashley Simpson are apparantly in a fight)